Adventures In Acupuncture (#5 in series)

This is a tale of healing as well as a tale of travel so bear with me as I start at the beginning and include a few pics of my big, fat feet:

I got nailed back at the farm in Pennsylvania Aug. 2.  By a spider, I think.  When I whacked it, I smooshed it up and don't know for sure, except that it was black. Whatever it was, within three days my foot looked like this...  

A few days later it got worse -- all of the smaller toes looked like the ones on the right.  The pressure got so bad that I thought they were going to burst!  I could barely walk and when I did I hobbled along with a crutch.

One thing about traveling, I've learned, you're not ambulatory, you can't get around, you're in trouble.  The problem was that I had already forked out $632 for round-trip airfare NYC to Bangkok.  And most international carriers these days charge $200 to change or cancel flights, or more...(don't get me started on that).

What was I to do?  By Labor Day, the departure date loomed only a few weeks off.  Yes, as some of you have already guessed...

Customer service assigned me a special seat, where I could elevate my foot.

Night train, Bangkok to Chiang Mai in northern Thailand.

My plan was to pass through Chiang Mai en route to Myanmar/Burma anyhow. So I decided to stop into the Mungkala Clinic in the old city and see Dr. Rungrat. I had visited her twice in years previous for general health appraisals, but never had had acupuncture.

Understand that it was now early October, two months after the bite.  I had been taking antibiotics (Cephalexin) every day, which reduced the infection but didn't get rid of it.  As I sat down with the doctor, I was still a hurtin' puppy and willing to try about anything.

These helped, but not enough.

Located in the "old city" district of Chiang Mai.

She examined the foot and concluded that my system would not eliminate the poison via regular processes.  It needed some help.  Acupuncture could aid in this, she said, by stimulating circulation and thus flushing out the contaminants. She recommended two treatments and then see how it went.

This sounded good, especially at 500 Baht ($14 U.S.) per treatment.  "Have at it," I told her.

Your humble correspondent receiving his pinpricks.

During treatment...Note toes still inflamed months after the bite.

She swabbed the foot with a desensitizing agent, which left the target area cool and somewhat numbed.  Tiny pricking sensations as she inserted the needles, but no real pain.  She worked astonishingly quick; about thirty seconds for all seven of them.  I laid there for half an hour afterward, until a timer went off and a nurse came in to remove them.

The first ten minutes or so I wiggled a bit -- all that hardware protruding from me was unsettling.  Then I got used to it and went semi-meditative.

I underwent one treatment Friday and one Saturday (I quit taking the antibiotics beforehand so as not to confuse the two treatments).  Come Monday, I caught a bus north and continued with my trip.

So soon after the treatments, the foot wasn't cured or anything; it was just time to move on to Myanmar/Burma.  I only had so much time.

Barefoot in Bagan (no shoes allowed in temples).

As described in previous posts, Myanmar is an interesting country with great scenery, food and culture, and friendly people.  But it's also a rough place to get around, especially by foot.  Garbage disposal is poor or non-existent and in general the place is dirty and littered.  The sidewalks are horrible and many foreigners were wincing around with bandages on feet or knees as a result.

One day I was exploring the great templed complex of Bagan, in the hot central plain, when it struck me -- Hey, I'm walking without pain!  I plopped back onto some stairs and ripped off my New Balance hiker.  Sure enough, the swelling was almost gone and the toes had reduced almost to normal.

This wasn't a total surprise, I must admit, because I had noticed a certain cycle in the days after the treatments:  The toes would tingle, the kidneys would work noticeably, my urine would come out thicker and smelling stronger.  Obviously the body was cleansing itself because the next morning the toes would be reduced.

By the time I reached those temples in Bagan, some two weeks on, I was taking those sidewalks with ease!

Sidewalks from hell in Yangon..

Imagine trying to navigate here with a bad foot.  (Reddish spots are from betel nuts.)

I was able to climb this near Hpa-An, all the way up, because of acupuncture!

If this all sounds like a rah-rah for acupuncture, then so be it.  It's made a believer out of me.  It may not be right for everyone or for certain aliments, but who would have thought that it'd help with an insect bite?  

Years ago a man back in Penna. was treated for a case of shingles, a terrible rash afflicting many people as they get older.  His experience of healing was similar to mine.  Who would have thought that, shingles?

If this sounds like a plug for the Mungkala Clinic, so be it as well.  When you come right down to it, it just happened to be there along the way, a part of the journey.  For what it's worth, the clinic's website is richly colored and informative; worth a peruse even if you don't need its services:  http://www.mungkala.com/

A man and his e-bike.  Note flip-flopped and carefree feet.

All things must come to an end, and after three-weeks plus in Myanmar/Burma I exited back into Thailand.  This time via a southern border crossing at Myawaddy.  In essence I had made a big semi-circle through the heart of the country, and in more ways than one.

As usual, I took a lot of photos, maybe four hundred all told.  Below is one of my favorites.  Even though of a child, it shows the openness and innocence of many of the people...

They start 'em young with the face cream.

Now, also as usual, a few notes of reflection... 

After decades of isolation, the country overall seemed lost in time and space; in many ways living as it did half a century ago when the military seized control.  It stayed where it was while the rest of us went on with so-called progress. 

Weeks before, as soon as I crossed in, I knew that I was in another land.  Not only because of thanaka cream on the faces and the men wearing traditional longyis (dresses-like), but the whole feel.  Every day offered an element of the surreal, like a dream.  Often I'd walk around blinking my eyes in wonderment, "Is this real?  Am I really experiencing this?"

On these pages I've detailed some of the ups and the downs, the good and the bad, even the tasty and the not-so tasty...In Myanmar's case, this all added up to one memorable travel experience.

Those of you who read all five of these, thanks for comin' along and happy travels to all!

J.M.

[END OF SERIES ON MYANMAR/BURMA]

Chai and Chew-Chew (# 4 in series)

Trekkers talking at Mr. Charles Guesthouse in Hsipaw, Myanmar

One of the advantages of being a budget traveler is that I've had to stay in hostels and guesthouses to get by, often in dorm rooms with so-called strangers.  I call this an advantage because it has allowed me to meet and know other travelers better than if I were in a nicely appointed room by myself.

Hostels, in particular, have community kitchens or lounges where residents gather for meals, sharing of information, socializing, etc.  Out of this, I often hook up and travel with some of them for days or weeks at a time.

Up in the Shan Highlands, for instance, I teamed up with a thirty-something Korean woman named Jaeeun.  In excellent physical shape, with a great spirit of adventure, she pooled resources with me in finding places to stay, sights to visit, etc.

 Jaeeun, squinting into a shot on the Goteik Viaduct.

The view from the terrace at Garden Hotel.

We took that memorable train ride together, then stayed in the dorm of the Garden Hotel in Mandalay.  We were berthed top floor, seven stories up, where pigeons cooing on the ledge outside made for a soothing way to drift off to sleep. There we added a third member to our "team," a girl from China named Yan.

Only twenty, Yan was touring S.E. Asia and had been studying American language and culture.  To my amazement, she'd press a few buttons on her device and sing along in Chinese to 500 Miles, the folk song from the Sixties.

What cracked me up, she'd do the same for Auld Lang Syne, which for some reason is popular with many Asians and has nothing to do there with New Year's.  (On previous trips to the region, I've heard people in various countries intone similarly as well.)

One day the team set out walking to visit the royal palace in Mandalay.  With her distinctive twist on English, Yan referred to this as "King place...We go king place."

Eating, which these two women seemed to do every few hours, was signaled by a closing motion of the fingers, like pinching together of chopsticks, accompanied by the words "chew-chew...chew-chew."

Some "chew-chew."

All in all, Myanmar food was not that delectable, I didn't think, compared to Thailand or Malaysia anyhow.  However, it was unusual and made for interesting travel.  So here now I'll do my best Anthony Bourdain imitation, without the alcohol.  Or at least give it a go.

A lot of the food, especially the side dishes, is pickled, fermented,  heavily salted or spiced (hot!) or deep-fried.  Quite honestly, many times it didn't look or smell that appealing.

And you had to be careful -- if you spooned on the condiments you could be retching and hiccuping violently in short order -- the chilies, fiery sauces, etc. can be such a shock to the system.  A few times I recoiled like I had just touched off a 30-06.  Someone with a weak heart could keel over.  No exaggeration.  I learned early on, experiment there yes, but cautiously, cautiously.

As for the picture below, how would you go about attacking this, a traditional dinner?  I had to get help from the waitress.  I mean, where do you even start?

Traditional Burmese dinner, 2000 Kyats ($1.55 U.S.)

First off, the potato soup on the right, I was told.  Second, the roast duck on the left, which I heaped onto the rice followed by the green vegetables from the plate at top.  Then it really got adventurous as I went around pulling the tops off those metal bowls...

How does boiled fish paste sound?  Or fried fish paste or fish paste curry? Mango chutney, mariam chutney, and more?  Nine such offerings all told, with each one making me cringe more than the previous.  Really, you should smell this stuff!

Dessert was all right though:  coconut jaggeries, coffee candy, tamarind balls ("Watch the pit," my adviser warned) served in three different bowls.  I sampled each and was struck at how distinctive were the tastes.  A great contrast in sweetness-es to the meal itself.

  

She holds a quail egg, a popular snack.

Lots of cattle here, providing meat, milk, etc.  These are in Bagan, the templed city.

Shan noodle soup, 1,000 Kyat (75 cents U.S.)

I came to the conclusion that cleanliness standards were poor at many of the eateries.  At the guesthouses more trekkers than usual were bolting for toilets, hallways echoing with the sounds of barfing soon after.  One guy had to cut short his trip because his system couldn't shake the food poisoning.

For this reason, I avoided most street food and did my own restaurant "inspections."   In other words, I'd go into the kitchens and check out the facilities myself.  (I told the staff that I liked to meet the cook beforehand, that it was a habit of mine.)

Shan noodle soup became my staple.  It was tasty, always bubbling on-stove, and generally not the type of thing that'd make you sick.  I practically lived on the stuff.

When I found a place up to my standards, it went on the approved list and I used it frequently thereafter.  This cut down on the variety of the culinary experience, but allowed me to make it three-plus weeks with only mild intestinal distress.

Mint chicken at Super Wonder Bowl in Yangon -- an approved facility.

Coconut noodle soup with two types of tea in Hpa-An -- approved as well.

India food from street vendor -- not approved.

Concerning the teas shown above:  The blackish one is regular tea, served along with most meals. The milky brown one is chai or what is called "chai tea" at many shops and supermarkets in the U.S.

"Chai tea" makes the Burmese chuckle as chai (pronounced "cha") means tea all by itself in these parts.  So it's a little like saying, hey, gimme some of that H2O water over there.  Or, how about some of that steak red meat? 

For those that don't know, chai is regular tea with milk added and gussied up with cinnamon and other spices.  Quite delicious.  It's a morning ritual for many in Myanmar, and it soon became one for me.

My morning picker-upper...with deep fried pastry in background.

It's usually made with cow's milk, but some I had up in the Shan Highlands was unusually thick.  Come to find out that it was made with the milk of water buffaloes!  This was an education in itself as I didn't even know that you could milk them.

Back in my farming days in Penna., I used to get kicked every so often while milking cows.  Judging from the size of the hooves on these critters, not to mention the horns, this is one activity that I won't be engaging in here.

[PART FIVE TO FOLLOW NEXT WEEKEND]

The Rails To Mandalay (#3 in series)

Bridge maintenance can be a little dicey.

After two hours flying through mist and thick clouds, my plane landed in the market city of Lashio, an anchor point on the Burma Road.  I was there at last!

The only problem was that officials would not let me proceed farther north, to the border with China. Too dangerous, they said at a checkpoint, not recommended for foreigners.  I had to settle for hiring a teenager and riding the route for a few miles on the back of his motorbike.  Even that was cut short as the skies let loose again and we got drenched.

As I always say, if you can't head north, go south.  An extension of Myanmar Railways terminates in Lashio, with passenger service south every day.  I decided to take a route that also had been haunting me since my boyhood, a route fairly dripping with exotic invite -- The Road To Mandalay.  Or in this case, the rails there.

To a few blasts from its horn, the mighty engine approacheth.

Man and mechanism for siding cars.

Children along the way.

A guidebook called it one of the great railway journeys, Lashio to Mandalay. Well maybe, some nice scenery, but it was also a rough one.

Often it was like riding a wild bronc; the cars would go on bucking and bucking and rocking for miles while you held on for dear life.  Luggage on the overhead racks had to be tied down or it'd end up on your head.  You didn't walk the aisle; you staggered it, arms out to the side in case of a sudden lurch or jerk. 

And loud -- with mysterious bangings in other compartments, frequent PHHH-SHISSSHHHH-ings of air brakes, and the screeching of wheels against rails. 

Every few hours the train would stop at a station for twenty minutes or so.  This allowed us to pop off and barter with smiley women smoking cheroots (little cigars), grab a quick meal dished onto a banana leaf or simply jabber with the locals.  Great fun.  More than anything, it was a respite from the mayhem of the train's movement!

One bit of advice:  When the engineers blast that horn, get right back onboard.  They just rev up that big diesel and go.  No other warning.

Plates?  Who needs plates when you've got big leaves of the jungle.

Foliage would scrape by open windows, showering us with leaves, twigs, bugs, etc.

The Goteik Viaduct, components made by Pennsylvania Steel Company.  Quite a thrill crossing this.

As far as language goes, "Mandalay" is one of those names:  It rolls melodiously off the tongue; practically word music tinged with the exoticism of Asia.  Books and movies have been inspired by it.  A casino in Las Vegas has been named similarly -- Mandalay Bay.  And of course, the famous poem by Rudyard Kipling, which reads in part...

     On the road to Mandalay,    

Where the flyin' fishes play,

An' the dawn comes up like thunder

outer China 'crost the bay!

Back when schools used to educate people, children would walk around reciting this.  Whoa, I was one of them!  For decades, in fact, I was one of them.  And then a funny thing happened -- I managed to survive that train ride and got there, to the actual place.

As I soon discovered, modern Mandalay is nothing like its reputation.  Most of the old was destroyed by bombings and subsequent fires during World War II. Nor was it particularly old to begin with; only rising up into city status in the mid 1800's.

Furthermore, the Burmese didn't even design the place.  It was laid out by the British in an orderly grid with numbered or lettered streets, with the royal palace at the center.  The layout is more Victorian than it is Asian.

Hulky concrete buildings, often with blackish stains, are the main order of architecture.  Motorbikes blatting about and heaving sidewalks with gaping holes and betel juice spittle make walking an adventure, to put it mildly.  But the city is bustling with trade and commerce, and people go about with a spring in their steps.

I would call it a solid city in the Emerging Asia, prosperous and on the move, with some interesting sights, temples, etc.  Certainly worth a visit if you're in the area.

The clock tower, center-city.

Marketplace.

The view from Mandalay Hill.  Note flatness of city in background.

As for Rudyard Kipling, who wrote the famous verse quoted above...For the information of all hands, there's no bay in Mandalay, no bay for the dawn to rise up like thunder from, like in the poem. The Irrawaddy River, wide, sluggish and filthy, flows nearby, a few lakes dot the region, but that's it.

To hear it from local fishermen, river captains, etc. -- no flying fish either.  And regarding the "...outer-China-across-the-bay" thing, no China either.  That country lies hundreds of miles north.  I had to wonder, what was this guy smoking...or drinking back in 1890?

Before I let him off the hook, one last thing:  Come to find out that Kipling never even got to Mandalay.  In other words, the guy who wrote the poem Mandalay never set foot there.  As a soldier in the British army, he traversed the southern coast, but never got up-country.  

In literature terms, the verses sound good though...good phrasing, powerful imagery.  They've kept people discussing and imagining and perhaps enjoying for a hundred twenty-five years.  So give him that -- a real wordsmith.

This blog, my own version of Mandalay, will never be taught in English classes.  But what the heck, at least I got there.

[PART FOUR TO FOLLOW NEXT WEEKEND]